


Ghosts of the past

by BigG1999



Series: ClexaHalloweenWeek2017 [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Light Angst, Period-Typical Homophobia, clexahalloweenweek, ghost - Freeform, victorian ghost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 18:03:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12513120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigG1999/pseuds/BigG1999
Summary: It's said that humans die twice. Once when their heart stops and their brain cells die, and again when everybody forgets you, when your name is spoken for the last time.What happens if you're remembered after your deaths? #ClexaHalloweenWeek





	Ghosts of the past

“Blazes,” Lexa coughs, her lungs gulping down air, having gone too long without it.

“What the dratted?” she questions herself, looking down at her body, one that had been gone for way too long.

She stands, looking around. 

_ Where am I? What happened? Am I still dead? Where is this? Is? Is that? It is! This is my house!  _

Many things have changed, the color on the walls, or lack thereof. What was once a pale blue is now a white. Pictures of another family line the walls, a family Lexa does not know. She steps closer, investigating. 

The pictures themself tell a story. It starts with a family, mom, dad, and daughter. They look happy, pictures of the blondie child being silly. A picture stands out to Lexa, her heart stopping as she takes it in. 

The blonde child is sitting, facing away from the camera. Next to her is a grave. It’s a great shot, but who the hell saw a child crying over their loved one and took a picture?

“Hello?” a voice calls out, causing Lexa to jump.

In the doorway to Lexa’s room, what used to be Lexa’s room, stands the blonde from the pictures. 

“What the fuck?” she mumbles, eyes wide.

“Hello?” Lexa questions, tilting her head.

“What? The? Fuck?” she exclaims, slamming the door shut.

“Oh dratted! I did not mean to scare you,” Lexa says, walking to follow the girl.

“Not real, it’s not real. Not real,” she mumbles to herself, her eyes closed as she rocks back and forth.

“I never should’ve opened it, I let out a spirit,” she shakes.

“Dear, I did not mean to frighten you,” Lexa says, crouching next to the girl.

Blue eyes meet green, wide with pure fear, the blonde jumps away, onto her bed, pulling the covers over her head, hiding like a child.

“My name is Lexa. I lived here in my lifetime. I also spent many years after my death here too. Then, all of the sudden, I didn’t. Now I am again,” Lexa explains, sitting down on the end of the bed.

“You’re a ghost. A real one. And you’re not going away,” she whispers.

“I’m really sorry dear, I can go hide if you’d like,” Lexa offers, “I did for the last few years I spent like this.”

The blonde sighs, sitting up and looking at the undead.

“My name is Clarke,” she offers her hand.

“Lexa,” Lexa states, her hand passing through Clarke’s when she tries to shake it.

“Lexa? This is yours?” Clarke questions, holding up a small black book.

“Yes, that was mine. I enjoyed writing my thoughts down, even if it was not allowed,” Lexa mumbles, looking down at her hands, settling them in her lap. 

“When are you from?” Clare questions, her eyes traveling the teenager.

A full length dress with many layers and a hairstyle that must have taken hours to perfect, with braids and spirals.

“I died in 1836, well, I was killed. I was a Mary. I sinned in a house of God with a strumpet. My bootlicker of a father hanged me in our house to protect the family name. He grew old here with me ruining his every move,” Lexa grins.

“What?” Clarke questions.

“I enjoyed the company of another woman,” Lexa simplifies, causing Clarke the turn red.

“So…” Clarke mumbles, “How long are you here for?” 

“I do not know,” Lexa confesses.

“Clarke!” A woman’s voice yells from the kitchen.

Clarke rolls her eyes, pulling the blanket over her head again. It only takes a minute for her door to be swung open.

“Clarke, I asked you to take out the trash at six this morning, it’s now five o’clock at night and the garbage is still there,” she says, earning only a grunt, “Clarke, please give me something.”

She waits, for a sign, a noise, anything, only to get nothing. Clarke doesn’t move until the door shuts, jumping when she realizes Lexa hasn’t moved.

“That seemed harsh,” Lexa comments.

“You don’t understand,” Clarke says.

“Well I have time. I am sure that you read some of my diary, so it would just be us getting even,” Lexa states.

“Wait, why didn’t she freak about you?” Clarke questions.

“I think only you can see me. Only certain people can.”

“Well, then fuck, why not? Get comfortable, cause this is a shitty story.”

“At the very least you are still alive to tell it,” Lexa comments, earning a smile.

_ I could fall in love with that smile. _


End file.
